Page 43 of The Fake Date Deal

“It’s great you could make it. We’re so excited.”

“You’re going to be amazing,” said his friend, coming over. He made a frame with his fingers and held it up to my face. “Juan had his doubts when Marco proposed this, but I see it. You’re perfect. Let’s get you in makeup.”

I stared at him. “Makeup?”

“I did not have my doubts,” said the first man — Juan. “I just had to get the client on board.”

“Client…?” My legs felt weak. What was happening?

“Carlo has your contracts in the makeup trailer. It’s just standard stuff, your fee, the waiver…”

I grabbed Marco’s arm. “What are we doing?”

He spun back to face me, practically bursting. “It’s a commercial. The new Model A.” He pointed at a car parked under an awning, a gleaming red sports car with a sleek racing frame. “I’m going to be driving it. Saving you from a bad date. It’s going to play everywhere, all over the world — Europe, America, everywhere cars are.”

My heart leaped, then plunged. I laughed out loud. This was… this was perfect. Better than I could have dreamed. It was me moving on, and not just to a new man. Me doing something that was for me. Maybe a step, even, to the career I had dreamed of, that first tiny step that meant so much. I flung my arms around Marco and hugged him tight.

“Thank you, thank you! This is amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he whispered. “That’s why Juan said yes. I told him about you, how funny you are, and when I mentioned your act, he knew someone who’d seen it. That’s why you’re here. All I did was suggest you.”

Tears sprang to my eyes, joy, surprise, excitement. “But, wait. Did I steal this part from somebody else?”

Marco smiled. “No. It’s all yours. It started off as just me taking the car on a joyride, but they loved the white knight angle. And they wanted you.” He kissed me on the forehead, then gave me a light shove. “Go on, go with Juan. He’ll take you to makeup.”

I went, and I felt like I was walking on air. I’d had daydreams like this, of movie sets, but the real thing was bigger and brighter and louder. I had four different artists buzzing around me, making me beautiful for my big moment. They brushed out my hair and sprayed magic sprays in it, then arranged it in waves like liquid gold. I got makeup that looked like I wasn’t wearing makeup, except that my skin seemed to glow from within. My dress was incredible, long, red and flowing, its lines and its color matching the car. I couldn’t take my eyes off myself in the mirror.

“I don’t even look like me.”

“What? Yeah, you do.” The hairdresser paused in her final touches. “We only bring out what’s already there.”

“We’re artists, not miracle-workers,” said the makeup girl. “That’s you, just… polished. Camera-ready.”

“Speaking of which—” Juan stuck his head in. “Oh, looking gorgeous. We’re ready when you are.”

I found myself hustled out into the light, then into the café I’d spotted before. A man in a dark suit stood up to greet me.

“Hey. I’m Boring Guy.”

I laughed. “I’m Eve.”

“Okay,” said Juan, clapping his hands for attention. “We’re going to shoot Marco’s grand entrance, then you two are up. We can’t have you sat there when he actually pulls up, so it’s going to be two shots, first him, then you.”

I peered out the window, searching for Marco, and I soon found him leaning on the car. He saw me looking and winked, and I melted a little. He’d been through hair and makeup as well, and they’d roughened him up. Made him hard, dangerous. His hair was all tousled, his cheekbones sharp-shadowed. Even his stubble seemed darker than normal, messy, untamed. Wild-man chic. He ducked into the car, and Juan strode outside.

“Exciting,” said Boring Guy.

Marco drove off, circling the block. I cocked my head, listening, trying to hear where he was. Next thing I knew, he came screaming back, hooking around the corner in a wide spray of dust. He screeched to a stop and stepped out of the car, and a wind machine roared, blowing his hair back. He looked like a cowboy in an old Wild West flick, dirty and rugged, the essence of manly.

“Too much wind,” yelled Juan. “He’s squinting.”

I liked his squinty look, very Clint Eastwood. But Marco got in the car and went round again. I wanted to watch, but Juan’s PA came over. He cornered me and Boring Guy to run through our scene.

“So, you’re up next. You know what to do?”

Boring Guy nodded, but I was less sure. Act bored, I guessed, but I hadn’t seen any script.

“It’s pretty simple,” said the PA. “And Juan’ll direct you. But what needs to happen is, you’re on the worst date. Eve, he’s so boring, you’re literally drooping. Physically wilting. Sliding down in your seat.” He turned to Boring Guy. “Say whatever you want to her. It doesn’t matter. This’ll play with just music, so you need to show boring. Stay bland, stay dull with your body language. And she’s going to act like she can’t stay awake. The one thing to remember?—”

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